


Faeted, Part Three

by megzseattle



Series: Faeted [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Seelie Court
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Cover art byGoodOmensFicRecommendationson tumblr!Crowley and Ezra attempt to make decisions that will affect the rest of their lives. Of course the process doesn't go smoothly.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Faeted [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648102
Comments: 127
Kudos: 47





	1. Light of a New Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This work follows closely on the works of part one and part two, and I'd suggest you start there if you are new to the series. Also please check the interim about couples counseling for a short interlude that takes place between part two and this section.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Ezra get back to life in the Dark Keep after their reconciliation. Life seems to be proceeding pretty calmly for once. Crowley knows he should find this worrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Faeted, my friends. I have taken a long break to first of all rest, and second of all think a lot about how this story wraps up. And I have to say, I'm very very excited about part three. I have been writing little scenes that will be interspersed throughout the whole story for a month or so now, just helping to solidify in my mind what happens across the story, and also letting me hop from exciting part to exciting part like the hyperactive child I am on the inside. :) But I think this will be an enjoyable ride and that you will be pleased! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I love my Faeted readers so much. :)
> 
> The chapter count here is just a guess. Who knows. :)

Something was wrong with Crowley. Not seriously wrong, Ezra had enough experience to know when he was facing a crisis versus just a bump in the road, but something was on his mind, and had been for quite some time. They’d been back in the Dark Court for several weeks now, and things had been going quite smoothly – their time working things out on Earth had helped tremendously in putting their relationship back together. Neither of them had been hiding anything from the other. Until now.

On this particular morning, Ezra sipped his tea and watched with some suspicion as Crowley jittered around the kitchen, looking as if he might literally vibrate himself out of existence. He watched him as he dug randomly through cupboards, muttering something about needing a particular cup (never mind that he could snap his fingers and summon whatever it was), then make and discard several cups of tea (“English swill,” he declared, upon tasting each, and yet he persisted in making another one), and then randomly start sorting through a pile of kitchen knives.

“Are you planning on murdering me?” Ezra asked dryly.

Crowley started, and if Ezra didn’t know him so thoroughly, he might have taken it as an admission of guilt that would have made him fear for his life. Instead, though, he raised an eyebrow and pinned him with his best schoolteacher look.

“Out with it,” Ezra said. “Whatever is on your mind, let’s get it out in the open before you break something.”

Crowley sighed and flopped down bonelessly in a kitchen chair. “It’s just –” he said. “It’s just that I have been thinking about your role here.”

Ezra sipped calmly, knowing there was no point in trying to rush him to the point. He’d get there eventually.

“Talked about it once before. The court – you’re without position or official status, so they see you, some of them, as my pet.”

Ezra grimaced. “Well, that’s just lovely.”

“Exactly,” Crowley said. “Not everyone, of course – not everyone is a close-minded twit. Plus, you won the respect of many of them with the fight with Gabriel and then bringing me back to life when the cavern fell.”

“I don’t really care what the court thinks of me, my dear,” Ezra said calmly. “Just you. And I know, I believe, how you feel about things.”

Crowley snorted. “You better, after dragging me to couples counseling on Earth for two months. If there’s a thing about my feelings you aren’t intimately aware of at this point, I can’t figure out what it is.”

Ezra grinned. “We will have to revisit Ms. Shirer at some point and thank her for all she’s done for us.”

“I’ll put that on our list of things to get to someday,” said Crowley, with someday plainly meaning never. Ezra was not fooled one bit.

“And in the meantime?” Ezra said. Crowley stared at him blankly, clearly having lost the thread entirely. “There was something you wanted to discuss?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I think you should be the prince consort. If, well, if you want.”

“What is the prince consort?” Ezra asked, somehow keeping his voice calm despite a flurry of emotion.

“Basically, it recognizes you as –“ Crowley stammered for a moment, “ -- as my partner, with an official place in court. Even if something should happen to me, you’d have status here, be protected.”

“If something were to happen to you,” Ezra said, “I don’t think I’d stay. Don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I’d be able to be here without you.”

“Well either way,” Crowley said. “It’d be a public expression of what’s between us.”

Ezra set down his coffee cup slowly. “My dear,” he said, “are you, in your own inimitable way, proposing _marriage_?”

Crowley blushed about four different shades of red and opened and closed his mouth like a fish several times before anything came out. He cleared his throat.

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Ezra stood and walked around to Crowley’s side of the table and gathered him into an embrace, all but smashing the Fae lord’s face against his chest, hand pressed into the nape of his neck, as they both breathed hard and clung to each other for a long moment.

“I love you for offering,” Ezra said, “and I do want to marry you –”

Crowley groaned and leaned back in his chair. “I can hear the ‘but’ in that sentence approaching from a mile away.”

“But we did agree we were going to take things slowly for a bit,” Ezra finished. “Didn’t we?”

“We did,” Crowley said, going for charm. “But honestly? This is me going slow. Really.”

“I suppose it is,” Ezra said, musing. “I’m honestly not sure what answer to give. Part of me is thrilled, and part of me is terrified.”

“Sounds about right for love, to me,” Crowley mumbled. “If you don’t know the answer yet, the answer is no.”

“It’s a qualified no. It’s a ‘I want this very much but I’m not quite ready yet’.” Ezra looked at Crowley, worried. “Can you handle that?”

Crowley considered, for a split second, reacting as the temperamental king of the Fae who was not used to having his will thwarted and his invitations rejected – there was a time when he would have stormed out, punished Ezra with his silence, withdrawn for days to sulk. There was even a time when he might have retracted the offer all together, claimed he hadn’t meant it, saved face in whatever most insulting way he could.

Those times, however, were past. He remembered being that man as if from a long distance, like staring at the shore from a vessel disappearing into the horizon on the choppy seas. He could remember being there, but it no longer seemed real.

“I can handle it,” Crowley said. “As long as you’re here, and we’re together. As long as you’re going to tell me when you’re ready. I can wait. I’ve waited thousands of years already to get to this moment.”

Ezra leaned down and kissed him, softly. “I think I love you even more for that answer.”

\--

A knock at the front door of Jasmine Cottage startled Juliet and Anathema out of their respective reveries.

“That’ll be Adam,” Juliet said, setting aside a pile of wool she’d been carding.

“Oh, did he call?” Anathema asked.

“No,” Juliet said with a smile. “Better let him in though, I think it’s important.

Anathema shrugged and went to the door. Sure enough, it opened to reveal a scruffy fourteen-year-old, who appeared to be in need of both a shower and a growth spurt, standing on the front step with a pile of magazines he’d borrowed and clearly read his way through.

“Oh Adam,” Anathema said, “we were expecting you!”

Adam looked confused. “You were?”

“Well, you know how your mom is,” she said with a grin. “Come in, come in.”

Adam wiped his feet carefully and entered the cottage. Juliet met them in the hallway, and the two shared a hug before heading back to the couch. Anathema stopped in to get biscuits and tea before joining them.

“What brings you here today?” Anathema said.

“Partly these,” Adam said, indicating the pile of returns. “I read through them all; they were wicked. Got any more?”

“Maybe, I can look around,” Anathema said.

“But also, I wanted to talk to you both about something,” Adam said. “Well two things. One, I want to join the coven. And two, I think it’s time for me to get to know my dad. My bio dad.”

Juliet faltered, and Anathema stared.

“You want to get to know Beelzebub?” Juliet asked.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” Adam said. “I mean, other than the fact that they gave me away as a baby? And wiped your memories of it? Which, granted, makes a pretty good case in the ‘against’ column.”

Juliet, to her credit, just listened.

“But at the same time, they kept me alive at a time when I probably would’ve been killed. And yes, I’m mad at them, but I can’t help but be curious about what they’re like. Half of my nature comes from their world, and I know almost nothing about it.”

Anathema turned to Juliet. “What do you think about this? You know Beelzebub the best. Are they a danger to Adam?”

Juliet shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Beelzebub cared for me for two hundred years, at a time when many would have abandoned me or sent me home to live out my life in an asylum or be burned as a witch. They may be impulsive and foolish sometimes, but they wouldn’t harm him.”

“You two haven’t been talking, though, have you?” Anathema asked.

“No, not really.” The existence of their child and the way that Beelzebub had disposed of him had driven a wedge between them, one neither side had been able to work their way around. Between that and Beelzebub’s temporary imprisonment after all this came out, they’d drifted apart.

“Could you call them?” Adam asked. “I’ve got to understand some things about that side of myself, if I’m ever going to figure out who I am.”

Anathema and Juliet exchanged a look.

“I’ll give them a call,” Juliet said. “It might take a little while to set up.”

“I’ll see if Ezra can help,” Anathema added.

Adam leaned forward and grabbed a handful of biscuits much too large to be truly polite.

“Thanks!” he said, then proceeded to eat his way through most of the tray.

\--

Crowley sat at his desk and contemplated the state of his kingdom. Ezra was back by his side and things were going well, despite the failed proposal. For some reason he found he didn’t feel as badly about that as he should – he truly believed that Ezra planned to accept him at the right moment. He had meant it about waiting. The Dark Court was running smoothly now that the last of the traitors who attempted to close the portals between worlds had been routed out. Beelzebub was firmly back in place as his second in command, their fall from grace mostly forgotten. No one had disappeared in a portal or stolen his gold or imploded a cavern on top of their head in several months. In the east, Lady Michael was doing a relatively good job running the Shining Court in his sister’s stead. No big emergencies had sprung up from Earth in quite a while.

He frowned. It was all too _calm._ If there was one thing you developed a nose for when living for multiple millennia, it was when things were going too smoothly. Crowley could smell it. Trouble had to be brewing somewhere. It wasn’t possible to just be this content, could it?

He wanted to believe it but found he could not.

\--

“Gotta go hold court,” Crowley said, standing up reluctantly and trying not to think about how much he wanted to stay right here, in their personal study, warm and cozy. He stopped and peered at Ezra, who was leafing through a reference book about botany. “Want to come?”

Ezra didn’t always accompany Crowley to court anymore; court could be many things – surprising, violent, but also, often, mind numbingly dull. His presence there sent a signal to the denizens of the Dark Court that he was a part of the power structure, that he and Crowley were a union to be reckoned with, that he was not a prisoner but a partner. However, they both felt it was enough to make the point if he came along just once or twice a week.

“I suppose I could,” Ezra said, sliding a bookmark into place. “Any particular reason?”

Crowley shrugged. “Want you with me,” he said. “Gives me something nice to look at.”

Ezra tutted. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, even as he reached out to grab his cloak. Court, beyond all things, was chilly. All that bare stone and echoey space. He wished he could bring his cup of tea. 

\--

“Oh, I forgot to mention, Anathema called earlier,” Ezra said quietly as he stood behind Crowley at the dais. “She said Adam wants to meet Beez.”

Crowley waved a hand to stop the flow of petitioners. One of his goblin guards stepped forward to block the path to the stairs, glaring balefully at the waiting creatures until they stopped complaining.

“What?” he said. “Why on Earth would we want to stir things up like –”

Ezra lowered his voice. “I know, you’re right, but the boy does have a right to know something more about where he came from. I told her we’d talk it over.”

Crowley slung a leg across his knee and snapped for wine, which appeared in the trembling hands of a small gray creature sprouting both horns and feathers. Ezra stared as the creature handed him a goblet too, vaguely aware that he had no idea what this species was. Perhaps something like a barn owl, with legs? It met his gaze with dark brown eyes, showing no whites at all, and then turned away with a crooked bow.

“Let’s talk about it later,” Crowley said, after taking a deep swig of the dark ruby wine he favored. “Best not to discuss Earth too much here.”

Ezra nodded, and Lord Crowley waved regally to allow the petitioners to approach again. Up next were three pixies and a toad, the latter of which had apparently eaten one of the pixies’ friend whole. Crowley sighed and set about hearing the facts of the case and devising the appropriate judgment. Pixies, his posture seemed to say, were nothing but trouble.

\--

A dozen petitioners later, a ripple went through the court as Lord Beelzebub entered, clutching a strange looking scroll. They stalked their way across the crowded chamber and cut directly to the front of the line. A small trail of flies followed them like a delicate mist, a sure sign that Lord Beelzebub was not happy. The petitioners, as one, stayed out of their way. 

“A word?” Beelzebub said. “In private. With both of you.”

“Court is adjourned,” Crowley announced, standing with both hands on his hips. “Anyone have a problem with that?”

He glared around the room, and not a single creature dared meet his eye.

“Good then,” he muttered, then held out a hand for Ezra. Together, they strode off after Beelzebub to a private chamber.

“What is this about?” Crowley asked, removing his crown and laying it on the table. He rolled his head on his shoulders in relief. That thing was heavy.

Beelzebub tossed the scroll down on the table. It seemed to ripple and shimmer as if it were covered with a thin sheen of oil. “This arrived at the steward’s office a few minutes ago.”

“Delivered?” Crowley asked.

“No, just kind of – glimmered into existence.”

Crowley let out a breath. “Shadow Court,” he said.

“Yes.”

Beelzebub and Crowley continued to stare grimly at the object in front of them, while Ezra looked from one face to another.

“Can someone tell me what is going on here?” he demanded.

Beelzebub turned to look at him. “It’s a missive from the Shadow Court,” they said. “Such things are best approached with caution.”

“We can’t just… oh I don’t know, open it?” Ezra asked.

Beelzebub stood up. “Could be dangerous. I’ll get one of the pixies, they’re generally flame-proof,” they announced, leaving the room. There was a brief hubbub, and then they returned with a small, fluttering creature in tow.

“Open this scroll,” Beelzebub said, pointing to the object on the table, “on the command of the Prince.”

The pixie glared at everyone, but immediately fluttered over to examine the scroll. They leaned down and touched a careful finger to the seal and were rewarded with a zap that tossed them back several feet and left them with smoke coming out of their ears.

Beelzebub produced a small purple gem and held it out as the pixie shook themselves off and regained their balance.

“Payment for your silence,” Beelzebub said, grimly. “If I hear talk of this, I’ll ensure you’re fed to that toad you were talking to out there.”

The pixie greedily tucked away the gem, then flew away with a slight initial wobble, followed by an offended flounce. Beelzebub closed the door behind them.

“Pixies,” they said in distaste.

Crowley leaned forward and carefully pulled the loosened scroll open. The page initially appeared blank, but as they watched, letters shimmered into being one by one, as if being written by an invisible hand. Ezra found the hair on his arms standing up; it had to be an illusion, but he couldn’t help but feel that the author was sitting in the room with them, invisibly inscribing it.

“It’s a summons,” Crowley said. “My court date has been set.”

“Court date?” Ezra sputtered. “What does that mean?”

“Lady Sandalphon initiated an inquiry into the matter of my sister’s death, remember?” Crowley said.

“Well yes, of course, but it’s been such a long while that I thought perhaps it had just been dismissed as not worth further inquiry,” Ezra said. “As would be fitting, since it’s complete poppycock.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, the Shadow Court just moves on its own timeline,” he said. “Always knew this was coming.”

“You can’t – you can’t go there!” Ezra protested. “You said no one has ever returned.”

Beelzebub interceded as Crowley hunkered down to read the details more fully. “No, of course not, that’s not how these inquiries work, or no one would ever enter one. The Shadow Court sends a representative, who works somewhat interdimensionally – through something like a portal, but different. No one really goes anywhere, at least until a judgment is made.” They made a face. “This is hard to explain to a human.”

Ezra pulled a face back. “My apologies for the disability of my birth.”

“Oh shaddup, you two,” Crowley said. “A representative will materialize in a fortnight and court will be held that day. Lady Sandalphon and I are to be the only testimony, but we can each bring two representatives.” He looked up. “Obviously, that’s the two of you.”

Beelzebub nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

“How dangerous is this?” Ezra said.

They both looked at him in silence, their flat expressions making the answer very plain. 

“Oh, wonderful,” he said. “Perfect. Here we go.”


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra and Crowley to find out more about the upcoming trial, and life takes an unexpected turn.

“What do we know about this trial?” Ezra asked Crowley over dinner.

Crowley sawed angrily at the cheese on his plate, reducing it to a ruined pile of shards. “We know that Sandalphon is a liar.”

“Yes, but do we know anything about how this process works?”

Crowley stared at the mess he’d made, then set down his fork and knife all together. “It hasn’t happened in quite a while, but there are precedents. The Shadow Court sends a representative. Sort of. They’re not really here and we’re not really there. It’s more like –” he thought for a moment. “It’s more like we’re pulled into a bubble that’s in neither place for a while.”

“So, you won’t be here, but you won’t be there either?” Ezra asked.

Crowley frowned. “As far as I know, that’s how it works.”

“Theoretically, though,” Ezra said, “you have absolutely nothing to worry about, because we know this trial is a total farce, correct?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “I did not kill my sister, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ezra huffed. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just asking if there’s anything about the situation you’re in that could have made you culpable in some way. Your laws here – do you have laws? – anyway, your laws here leave me in some measure of confusion about how things work.”

“Of course we have laws!” Crowley snapped. Then he thought. “Not very many though. And they’re hardly ever written down. Things here are more driven by protocol than laws.”

Ezra groaned. Heavens, had he learned the hard way about protocol and the unwritten rules governing all human-fae interactions. Fae life was driven by a series of customs and rules and precedents and getting any one of them wrong or not knowing one existed was nearly a death sentence. This alone had led to him being caught here in the first place, then nearly being decapitated by a spriggan at his first banquet, as well as numerous other near disasters. For a society of beings with such power and freedom, their lives were highly constrained by the intricacies of power and who wielded it.

Fae life, he thought, came down to one general principle: do what you want, but don’t piss off anyone more powerful than you are.

“Do they just read your minds, then?” Ezra asked, knowing he was probably pushing a little too hard. “To get the evidence?”

Crowley took a deep breath and tried to be patient. “I truly don’t know. Shadow Court trials are never witnessed, so there are few reports. Most participants come back… changed, in some way.”

Ezra blanched. “That sounds bad. I don’t want you to be changed.”

“Me either, angel,” Crowley said, taking a long sip of his wine. “But it’s hard to know what you’re going to get in this situation.”

“And there’s absolutely no way out of this? You can’t call in a – a Fae barrister of some kind?” Ezra sputtered.

Crowley laughed, bitterly. “No, we don’t have barristers here. We’re good enough at obfuscating things ourselves, we don’t need a whole army of professionals to help us do it.”

Ezra frowned and looked down at his plate of delicate cheeses and fruits that were somehow as satisfying and more nourishing than the meat and potatoes he’d grown up with. He knew he should eat some of them, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to throw it at a wall instead and have a tantrum about the fact that his _love_ , who he had just gotten back, now had to go before a tribunal with creatures that neither of them understood and be _changed_ in some way by the experience.

“I know you hate this,” Crowley said, reading him easily, “but I think I’ll be okay. For one, I’m blameless in my sister’s death, much as I felt the opposite at first. If Sandalphon thinks she has evidence – even if she’s manufactured evidence in some way – her machinations won’t be enough to fool the powers we’re going to be dealing with.”

Ezra grunted and stabbed a grape angrily with his fork. “I hope they string her up by her heels for doing this to you.”

“And if I’m found innocent, whatever changes they make to me will be good ones,” he continued.

“Oh lovely,” Ezra groused. “So, I’m supposed to be perfectly happy with you coming back all new and improved by creatures that neither of us can even comprehend.”

Crowley put down his glass and stared at him flatly. “I will still love you, Ezra,” he said firmly.

“You bloody better,” Ezra said, and pushed back his chair abruptly to go find a stronger form of alcohol.

\--

As much as he noted Crowley had changed over the course of their relationship, Ezra had changed too, he knew it. For example, Ezra two years ago would have charged off on some foolish mission to save Crowley without discussing it with him first, gotten himself into all kinds of difficulties, and ended up on the hot seat with his love despite his best intentions. Things were different now, though. They felt more like a partnership, less like they were jockeying for position and primacy with each other.

Today’s Ezra took that to heart and spoke up.

“Would you mind if I do a little research?” he asked Crowley after court one day. “Look through the library and the records room about what is known about other trials, and the Shadow Court in general? See what’s written down about your laws?”

Crowley looked at him. “You’re going to become the first Fae barrister?” he asked wryly. “As I said before, that’s not really how things work here.”

“It might prove advantageous,” Ezra said. “Couldn’t hurt for one of us to actually read some of these scrolls you’ve been storing up around here.”

Crowley nodded magnanimously. “Be my guest. Check out Beez’s library too. Who knows, might help.”

\--

Crowley and Michael had set up a regular twice a week scrye to keep in touch about the state of affairs in his sister’s court. As he set up for the scheduled meeting, he had to wonder what Michael would have to say about the upcoming trial. Surely news of it was rippling through both courts – this was truly a delicious level of gossip for the Fae, who loved little so much as a scandal. If Michael knew what was good for her, she was doing her best to squelch the rumors in their entirety and staying neutral. He doubted this was the case.

“Hello, Lord Crowley,” Michael said smoothly when she appeared on the water. She appeared as unruffled as always, her face a smooth blank and her chignon impenetrable. 

“Greetings,” he said in as unfriendly a tone as he could muster and proceeded to beat her to the punch. “I suppose you’ve heard from the Shadow Court as well?”

Did Michael look disappointed just for a moment to not be the one who got to broach the subject? He couldn’t tell, and it irritated him to no end. He was a talented reader of emotions and passions and drives and Michael was that odd type of creature who just seemed to have none whatsoever. He didn’t believe it for one second, but it frustrated him that she was able to exert such control over herself. The Fae, as a whole, were more prone to wearing their feelings – their capricious, boundless, unpredictable emotions, as wide as an ocean and twice as deep -- on their sleeve.

“Yes we did, your Grace,” Michael said smoothly, wrinkling her forehead in a simulation of concern. “We will be expecting the adjudicators in about two weeks’ time, I believe?”

“Indeed,” Crowley said. “What’s the reaction of your court to the news?”

Michael steepled her fingers and thought for a moment. “I won’t lie to you,” she said. “There’s some excitement about the whole thing. You know the tensions between our two courts. There are always short-sighted contingents in both our courts hoping to overthrow the other.”

“A bunch of fractious and intractable idiots,” Crowley muttered.

“I agree,” Michael said. “Lady Sandalphon must know she has no ground to stand on with this claim. I must admit that I am not in her confidence, my Lord. If she’s planning treachery, I can give you no warning of it.”

“If she’s planning treachery, she’s deserving of the trouble she’s about to get into. My memories cannot be altered, and you’d best be believed that the Shadow Court is going to pluck them from my head like ripe fruit and taste them one by one. She can offer whatever evidence she likes, but she won’t be able to override reality.”

Michael smiled a cool smile. “You have my support, my Lord,” she said.

\--

Ezra knocked politely on Beelzebub’s massive front door, then knocked more firmly, then finally pounded intently with his fist. Eventually, he heard movement stirring and the door cracked open a little.

“Ezra,” Beelzebub said dryly. “How delightful to see you.”

“May I come in?” Ezra said, ignoring the tone. “I have a request, and something to discuss with you.”

Beelzebub stepped back and held the door open, ushering them into the kitchen area.

Ezra looked around. “Crowley stayed here with you, after we broke up, didn’t he?” he asked.

“Perhapzzz,” Beelzebub said noncommittally.

“I can’t imagine he made for an easy roommate.”

Beelzebub grinned. “Easy is for idiots. I prefer my friends complex.”

Ezra smiled in spite of the seriousness of his mission. “It appears we have that in common.”

“So?” Beelzebub said. “What bringzzz you here?”

“Well first,” Ezra said, “Crowley’s given me his blessing to do some digging around in the books and scrolls to see what kind of records we have about the Shadow Court and their trial proceedings. He thought you might have a few volumes on hand that would be helpful to me.”

Beelzebub frowned. “You can look. I’ve got some old histories, might be something in there. Never really read them all the way through.”

“I would appreciate that,” Ezra said politely, remembering the Fae’s sensitivity to being thanked. “And then I have a message for you from Juliet.”

Beelzebub came to full attention. “Is she all right? Did something happen?”

“She’s fine, just fine,” Ezra said. “It’s just that – well, Adam has become curious about you.”

“The boy is interested in me?” Beelzebub was clearly trying to appear as impervious as always, but Ezra thought he detected a bit of change in their gaze – a speck of excitement or apprehension, or perhaps both.

“He’d like to meet you,” Ezra said. 

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “And does Crowley know this? I don’t want to get imprisoned again.”

Ezra nodded. “He has no objection, if you’re interested. We’d have to work out the where and how of it, so the court doesn’t get wind of it.”

Adam’s very existence was still dangerous. Hybrids of human and Fae were still looked upon as an abomination by most of the denizens of the Dark Court. 

Beelzebub thought for a moment. “I – I believe I am interested,” they said. “Pleazzze convey that to Juliet on my behalf.”

“I will,” Ezra said.

\--

Ezra ended up coming home with a thick stack of books offering the history and legends of the Dark Court. Most of them were _not_ written in English, but Crowley fixed that by enchanting a glass eye ring he could use to translate. He sat down in the study with a notebook and pen and began skimming through the top book of the pile.

Three hours later, Crowley wandered in to see what Ezra was doing. Ezra, lost in his work, did not look up. 

“Still lawyering?” Crowley said, making Ezra jump.

“Good lord, you startled me,” Ezra protested. “Make some noise when you come in.”

“Remind me to tie a bell around my neck,” Crowley purred. “Next time.”

Ezra carefully placed his finger on top of the page he’d been reading and closed the book on top of it, temporarily. “Well, that’s a pleasing image. You decked out like a large cat, prowling the halls…”

“More of a panther, if you ask me,” Crowley said, flopping down on the tabletop next to him. “So, finding anything out?”

“Not yet,” Ezra said, “but I’ve got quite a lot to get through.”

“Good,” Crowley said, hopping back up. “It can wait then. Come with me. I discovered an exceedingly rare bottle in the cellars yesterday and set it aside to show you.”

“We’re going to the wine crypt?”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows. “You know it’s one of my favorite places,” he said. “C’mon, angel.”

Ezra allowed himself to be led away.

\--

The wind, which always whipped around the Dark Keep alarmingly, picked up that night, clattering the bedroom’s balcony door open in the breeze. Snuggled up below the thick furs, neither Crowley or Ezra felt like getting up to shut it, but the flutter of icy wind through the room convinced Crowley to roll out of bed with a groan and pad over to secure it.

He groaned again and chased it with a few choice swear words, when Ezra’s mobile, banished to a shelf on the far side of the room, began to ring insistently.

“Dearest,” Ezra said, “would you mind terribly? You know it’s Anathema, and she only calls rather than texts when it’s something rather important.”

“Yes, I mind,” Crowley said irritably, “as I was in the midst of enjoying a moment with you.”

Ezra fixed him with a beseeching look, and with a rather overdramatic eye roll, Crowley stomped off to get the phone. He hit the button and held it to his ear.

“Bad timing, witch girl,” Crowley announced, not uncharitably. “You see, it’s night here – dunno what you do, but here we tend to sleep around this time off –”

He cut off suddenly and listened for a moment.

“Okay,” he said, and listened some more. “Uh huh.”

Ezra sat up. Something had happened, he could tell.

“Maybe you should talk to him?” Crowley said, then listened. “Uh huh. Okay, I’ll tell him.”

Ezra pulled the blanket closer around him. “What? What is it?”

Crowley placed the phone back down on the shelf, then changed his mind and picked it up to bring over. Ezra was probably going to want to use it.

“It’s your father,” Crowley said. “He’s very sick.”

“How did –“ Ezra said, brain spinning. “He doesn’t know Anathema.”

“Someone called the school looking for you,” Crowley said. “Mr. Young passed it along to Anathema, hoping she knew how to reach you.”

Ezra exhaled. “How sick?”

“She didn’t really have any details, but it sounded like it’s urgent.”

“He’s dying.”

Crowley nodded. “Sounds like it.”

Ezra sprung up out of the bed. “I need to go back. I need to go back right now.” He paused. “But your trial!”

“Don’t worry about that,” Crowley said firmly. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get you home.”

“No,” Ezra insisted firmly. “I’m not leaving you to deal with that alone. When is it coming?”

“A fortnight,” Crowley said.

“I’ll go, because I need to,” Ezra said, “but I’ll be back before then. And I’m taking the research with me, so make sure the books don't turn into a pile of leaves or something when I cross over, ok?”

“There’s really no need for you to do that while you're there,” Crowley protested.

Ezra fixed him with a look Crowley knew all too well, a look which brooked no argument. Continuing would be like talking to the keep around them – immovable, nonresponsive, completely immune to entreaty. He sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “Let me help you. Should I come along?” He was surprised to find that he actually meant it.

“Oh! Oh, no,” Ezra said, still seeming a little stunned. “My family is – well, let’s just say that they probably wouldn’t be very welcoming. Calling them flinty and aloof is putting it lightly. Let’s just get me there and back as soon as humanly possible.”

“Not humanly,” Crowley said, slightly offended. “You’ve got magic at your disposal. I’ll get you where you need to go as soon as you’re ready. And we will be in constant touch.”

“Thank you my dear,” Ezra said. “I’d greatly appreciate that.” He shook himself and picked up the phone. “Let me just call my sister and find out what’s going on, and then we’ll get organized.”

Crowley stared at his retreating back as Ezra wandered into his old room to have a long conversation. At a loss for what to do next, he snapped his fingers to materialize Ezra’s leather bag from the closet, then decided that was foolish and snapped it back, then changed his mind and brought it back out again. Then he went looking for a few cantrips and items he wanted Ezra to take if they were going to be apart – protection spells bound to amulets, communication enhancers to allow them easy contact, and a quick “take me back to Fae” charm that he glamoured to look like a keyring. He tucked these inside the bag’s outside pocket.

And then, unable to think of anything else useful to do, he sat down to wait as patiently as he was able.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one did not come into the world easily and feels a little patchy to me. I find that intro chapters are harder than the chapters where Big Things (tm) are happening. But we are getting further into our story and man am I dying to get smack into the middle of it where I have so many plans... :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. You Can't Go Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra goes home to face his family, and to contemplate his place in the world.

Ezra put his leather bag down next to his feet as he stood and stared at Holland House, his family’s ancestral home, from the front gates. The massive gates, painted in a genteel dark green, opened onto a winding driveway that led to the front façade of their Georgian manor. Even though the sight of it filled him with distaste, he had to admit that it was a lovely house – pale limestone blocks, a beautifully symmetrical front with a large entrance portico framed by long rows of multipaned windows, tall and flooded with light. The roof was gray slate, slanted up sharply and with dormers emerging on either side, and two sets of large chimneys rose in pairs from the roof.

Home, he thought, where everything was always symmetrical and tidy and impressive. He took a deep breath and pushed through the front gates, wending his way up the winding lane to the front door. He climbed the wide front staircase, made his way between the columns, and rang the bell.

It was some time before his sister Rosalind reached him, and when she did her face was red and her usually glossy and immaculate shoulder-length bob was disheveled. 

“Ezra,” she said, pulling him inside. “Thank goodness. You made good time.” She glanced at his bag and then back at him. “Is this all you brought?”

“I was in something of a hurry,” Ezra said quietly. “How is he?”

“Not well,” she said, “but he’s sleeping right now. Leave that here and I’ll take you to where the boys are.”

Ezra put down his bag, slung his overcoat on top, and followed Rosalind into the house.

\--

His two brothers were in the library in the midst of conversation.

“Aziraphale,” said the tall figure who was standing by the fireplace, leaning with one arm on the mantel. His brother Alistaire, tall and imposing as always in his impeccably tailored trousers breaking carefully just at the exact right spot and his casually expensive cashmere jumper. His brown hair was grayed at the temples and he was the spitting image of their father, although thirty years younger, with the same cool gray eyes and hard mouth.

“You know I go by Ezra now,” Ezra said. “Hello Alistaire, Nigel.”

Nigel turned from where he had been stabbing at the fire with a poker and nodded. He was slimmer than his two brothers, darker haired, and wore wire rimmed glasses on a hawkish nose. He gave the impression of examining Ezra like one would a lab specimen. “Back then, are you? You made good time. How’d you get here so quickly?”

“A friend dropped me off,” Ezra said, edging around the truth.

The brothers exchanged a look. “What friend?”

Ezra ignored them and looked around to see where the liquor was. There was always liquor in this house, and this occasion didn’t disappoint. He went and poured himself a scotch, neat, in one of his father’s fancy Glencairn glasses and took a moment to extend his time with his back to the room. He rolled it in the glass and watched the light from the fireplace glint off the tawny liquid. By the time he’d turned back around, the conversation had moved on.

“So, what’s happened to him?” Ezra asked. “Dad, I mean. Tell me the situation.”

“End stage kidney failure,” Alistaire said. “His blood pressure and diabetes finally did him in.”

“That and a mild heart attack,” Rosalind added. “Times three.”

Ezra looked around. “Are any of you even sad?” 

Alistaire slapped his hand down on the mantel. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you, the son who can’t even use the family name, you’re so done with us.”

Rosalind turned to him and made a quelling gesture, but he ignored her.

“No, Rosalind, let’s speak the truth,” Alistaire insisted. “While the rest of us were here doing our dutiful best, helping to run the family business, raising our kids to continue the Holland line, making something of ourselves – you’ve been out there, doing what? Teaching English to snotty kids at a third-rate public school. Changing your name and turning your back on all of us.”

“He told me to leave and never come back!” Ezra shouted. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Oh please, he tells me that at least once a year,” Nigel contributed. “You’re the only one who ever took him seriously.”

“I’m the only one he really meant it for,” Ezra said. “And you know that too.”

“Of course we’re sad,” Rosalind said diplomatically. “We’re just – you know. Stiff upper lip and all that. Dad’s been hard on all of us. But don’t kid yourself that this isn’t rocking the foundations for all of us, Ezra. You don’t have the cornerstone on emotions in this family.”

“I never said that I was,” Ezra said, feeling himself slipping inevitably back into the role he had always occupied as the baby of the family, the one who couldn’t do or say what was expected of him.

Alistaire’s mobile rang and he excused himself and left the room to take what was no doubt an especially important call. His calls were always especially important. Nigel muttered something about seeing to their mother and left too, and it was suddenly just him and Rosalind.

“That went well,” Ezra said dryly.

Rosalind smiled at him in a weary manner, then patted down her pockets for a packet of slim cigarettes. “Come out back with me and have a smoke,” she said.

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Ezra said, “I gave that up ages ago.”

“You can give it up again when you leave here,” she said firmly, and Ezra shrugged and followed her out through the back of the house.

\--

“How on earth did I end up in this position?” Ezra asked her as they sat on a bench in the small rotunda in the back garden. He took a deep puff of the cigarette and tried and failed to blow a smoke ring in the chilly air. He waved it away with a hand. “I’m not such an embarrassment, am I? I teach school at a respectable academy. I tried to be a dutiful son, even if I never once measured up.”

“You failed out of your first two prep schools,” Rosalind reminded him. “And the less said about your refusal to take the military exam the better.”

“And?” Ezra said. “Wanting me to go into the military was just ridiculous. I mean, can you see _me_ , a military officer? It’s preposterous. Sandringham was not the place for me; that’s not who I am.”

“Well, there’s who you are and there’s who you _are_ ,” Rosalind said. “In Mom and Dad’s eyes, first and foremost, you’re a Holland and will always be. It’s all about appearances. You were expected to go into finance or another suitably impressive occupation, pop out three or four little brats, and raise them to be rich and snooty. Like the rest of us Hollands did.”

“I’m a Fell now, not a Holland,” Ezra said lamely. He’d legally changed his name a decade ago, after his father disowned him, and taken on his mother’s maiden name. He did it to honor her father, the only family member who he had felt had ever understood him. Grandfather Fell had been an eccentric, a collector of ephemera and odd bits of knowledge, and a devout and enthusiastic reader. Most of his happiest childhood memories involved long hours at his house, pouring over books and helping on projects. He’d spent much of his summers with him, until he died when Ezra was twelve.

Rosalind waved a hand dismissively and took a deep drag of her cigarette. “Yes, yes, Grandfather Fell. Dad hated him; did you know that?” Ezra nodded. It had been no secret. “Really put one to him when you decided to change both your names and take on the Fell surname. Score one to you, little brother.”

Ezra shrugged. “What did it matter?” he asked woodenly. “He’d washed his hands of me by that point. I failed to go to law school, I had no interest in the military, and then I rejected the girl they’d all had me married off to in their heads for years. Every family has a black sheep – why can’t I just be ours and be accepted as such?”

She stared at him. “Don’t claim you didn’t enjoy it a bit, rejecting the family that way.”

He supposed she was right. There had been so few battles he could ever win with his father, so few places where he’d had leverage. Changing his name had felt essential at the time – foundational to who he wanted to be. But a part of him had known that it had to dig into his father’s side like a knife.

He filed that under things he would have to take up with his conscience someday. He had a hard time feeling too guilty about it right now.

\--

When Rosalind left him, Ezra made his way to his former bedroom, a small room at the front of the house. The rest of the family had larger rooms, suites really, facing the back gardens, with expansive views. His was perfectly fine but would otherwise have been a guest room if he hadn’t occupied it – it was smaller, less personal, and looked out over the driveway. Still a nice view, but not the choicest view in the house.

However, Ezra’s room had one small consolation though – one summer, in a fit of either childish pique or an obsession with finding a doorway to Narnia, he had taken a rock and punched through his closet wall and made himself a connecting hole into the reading room next door. When the damage was discovered, his mother, showing a rare bout of compassion, didn’t plaster it back up but instead had a real door put in. Ezra spent the rest of his childhood with a special hidden door in the back of the closet that led him to the bookcase-lined room next door. The rest of the family rarely used it, and he couldn’t help but think of it as his.

Since he moved out, his room had been tidied and repainted and essentially returned to neutrality – there were no childish mementos on display, just a few boxes tucked into the closet. Ezra sat down on the bed with a deep sigh and then flopped down onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he had so many times in his youth.

His phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Oddly, it said the caller was Ezra Fell.

“Hello?” he said cautiously.

“Angel,” Crowley said. “’s me.”

“Where did you get a phone?” Ezra said, puzzled.

“I can get a phone if I need one,” Crowley said.

“Don’t cell phones have iron in them?” Ezra worried.

He heard Crowley hiss at the other end and when he spoke again, he could tell the phone was a little farther away from his head. “Wondered why it felt so hot,” he muttered. “How are you?”

“So, you just walked into a shop, somewhere, and picked yourself up a mobile? Which just happens to show my name as the caller? Got yourself a contract, did you?” Ezra continued calmly.

“Okay, okay, I made a magical copy of yours before you left!” Crowley shouted. “Is that such a crime?”

Ezra laughed softly. “Actually, I’m fairly certain that it is, in at least several countries.”

Crowley huffed and said nothing.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Ezra said, “you just surprised me.”

“Just figured it might look weird if you’re always running off to scrye at your family home,” he said. "Trying to be considerate.”

Ezra smiled at the phone. “Thank you, my love,” he said, ignoring Crowley’s instinctive grunt of displeasure at the sentiment. “Now tell me, what have you been doing since you dropped me off?”

\--

Nigel found him a short while later, still staring out at the gardens. “Father’s asking for you.”

Right. Time to face this, whatever this was. He stood and followed his brother up the winding stairs to his parent’s master suite. He stopped in the bedroom doorway, taken aback.

His father, who he’d always viewed as a vigorous and terrifying giant, was now a small, bony figure who appeared to be practically swimming in the large bed, overwhelmed in sheets and blankets. His hair was wispy and thin, his skin had a grayish pallor, and his breathing was obviously labored. In the corner, a uniformed private nurse watched a monitor that displayed his heart rate and oxygen levels and a variety of other information.

His mother, who had been sitting at the side of a bed in a small chair, stood up and ushered him in.

“Ezra’s here, Monty,” she said, squeezing her husband’s hand. He roused himself a little and blinked several times before seeming to focus on the figures around him. He made a gesture and his mother offered him a sip of water. He swallowed and wet his lips.

“We’ll leave you two to talk,” she said, stepping aside and leaving the chair to Ezra. She and Nigel left the room, pulling the pocket doors that separated the bedroom from the sitting area closed behind them.

Ezra sat, suddenly aware of the enormity of the moment – alone in the room with his Montague Holland, renowned banker and philanthropist, and his dying father. He and his father had long ago disavowed each other. Ezra could remember being the boy, desperate for his father’s approval, but those feelings were part of the remote past, no longer something he could easily put his finger on. And yet – he found it quite difficult to sit here, looking at his diminished kin, and keep his heart as hardened as it had been for the last several years. It twinged despite himself with sympathy and, he supposed, the remnants of love.

“Is that you, Aziraphale?” his father said, his voice gravelly.

“Hi Dad,” he replied.

“Wanted to see you,” his father said, fixing him in his gaze. “We’ve been estranged too long. You’re still a Holland, you know.”

 _I’m a Fell_ , Ezra said to himself, but he let it go and tried to simply listen.

“Knew you’d come back,” his father continued. “You can’t turn your back on your family no matter how much you want to.”

“I’m sorry you’re sick,” Ezra said, truthfully. “Can I do anything for you?”

His father, sick as he was, made the same disapproving face that Ezra felt had been engraved into his psyche. “You can listen,” his father said. “Have a few things to tell you and I won’t have long. Try to pay attention.”

Ezra nodded.

“First, I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for abandoning the family, for turning your back on all the privileges we tried to give you, for rejecting every plan we made. You always had your own ideas. I won’t go to my grave angry at you.”

Ezra blinked, not sure how to feel about all of this. He had known better than to think that his father was suddenly going to be a new person, full of kindness and remorse, ready to beg his forgiveness for a lifetime of cruelty. But offering to forgive _him_ for being a bad son? That was unexpected. And potentially insulting. And also, oddly, a bit of a relief, to be honest. All the parts of this reaction made him upset.

“Second,” he continued, “I want you to know that your brothers are inheriting the estate.”

“That’s fine, I expected –” Ezra began, but was cut off.

“—because they deserve it, and they’ll care for it. And your sister will get the London townhouse, for her and her children, to set up their future.”

Ezra nodded. “I understand.”

“But you’re still my child, and I’m leaving you the cottage.”

The cottage? The cottage was a seaside home the family owned on the Dover coast. Hardly a cottage, it was more of a compound, and worth a tidy sum. They’d spent regular weekends there when he was a child. It was a gorgeous place, full of light and air and the scent of the sea. He had missed it.

“When you’re married and settled down, the cottage will come to you. You can live in it, you can sell it and be set up for life – whatever you prefer. But I won’t go to my grave with you unprovided for.”

“When I marry,” Ezra said flatly.

“When you marry.”

“When I marry a woman.”

His father exhaled and looked exhausted. “Yes of course, Aziraphale. Did I stutter?”

Ezra shut his eyes and took a slow breath, reminded himself his father was dying. 

“Thank you, dad,” he said quietly. “Is there anything else?”

His father looked surprised at the lack of response. A coughing fit took his breath for a moment, and the nurse in the corner came and helped him to lean forward and rubbed his back as he cleared his lungs. When he finished, he leaned back against the pillows, eyes closed.

“Send your mother in,” he said in dismissal. “Good talk.”

\--

His father made it through the night, and Ezra was the first one who made it down to the morning room for breakfast the next day. The family cook was just setting out a large platter of fresh-made cream scones, eggs and sausage, and fresh fruit. Ezra smiled his thanks at her as he picked a rather choice-looking scone out of the pile.

He was just sitting down to eat when the rest of the family stumbled in, in ones and twos, until they were all largely present.

“How is he doing?” Ezra asked his mother. She looked nearly perfect, as usual – silver hair tucked back in a low, smooth chignon, neatly attired in a crisp white button down, pearl earrings glinting from her earlobes – but her hazel eyes were obviously tired, and there were dark circles beneath them.

“It won’t be long,” she said, glancing with distaste at the food and then pushing her empty plate away. “I’ll just have some tea and then I’ll be up to sit with him.” She swallowed a sip and looked at him. “Did you and your father have a good talk, Ezra?”

Ezra tried to think of what to say. “I suppose so,” he said. “He – he said he forgave me for everything I’ve done wrong.” He was surprised to find the fork shaking in his hand and set it down, firmly, on the table. “He told me I can have the cottage when he’s gone -- ”

“The cottage?” Nigel said. “Wondered what was going to happen to that.”

“ – just as soon as I marry a nice girl and settle down.” Ezra finished. “So, of course, that’s not going to happen.”

His mother pursed her lips ever so slightly. “I hope you didn’t aggravate him, Ezra.”

“No,” he said quietly, “of course I didn’t.”

“I think Hen is still available,” Rosalind said from the other end of the table, and a weighted silence fell over the room.

Hen. Henrietta Albright, one of their nearest neighbors and his once intended. They were inseparable friends in childhood, both shy and bookish children, given to flights of fancies and romps in the parklands around the estate. She was a lovely girl – all smiles and rosy cheeks – and everyone in both families had mistaken their closeness as they grew older for something more and assumed they’d marry. In the end, Ezra had had to make it clear to both his family and to her that this was not ever going to happen. It had been one of the final nails in his proverbial coffin, in his father’s eyes. His friendship with the Albright family, and a number of business relationships contained therein, had never been the same.

“Ah, how is Hen?” he said quietly, thinking fondly of his old friend.

“Divorced,” Nigel said pointedly, digging into his grapefruit with a vengeance.

“How terribly sad,” Ezra said. “I hope she’s doing all right.”

“You could swoop in and make sure,” Nigel said slyly. “Never too late.”

Ezra laid both hands flat on the table and looked at all of them in turn. “I will have you all know, definitively, that I am both as gay as a maypole, and I’m actually in a quite serious relationship.” His family looked at him, startled. He took a breath and continued. “It’s the twenty first century, and I won’t stand for any more of this nonsense about pretending I’m not exactly who I am. Lots of families have gay family members. It’s not a shameful secret, no matter how much you want to pretend it’s so.”

Alistaire recovered himself first. “You live however you want, Ezra,” he said. “Just don’t expect all of us to countenance it with open arms.”

Ezra sighed. “Luckily, your approval is not essential to my happiness, Alistaire.”

Rosalind, to her credit, smiled at him. “You’re in love?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes I am.”

His mother stared at him for a second with an expression he couldn’t parse, then smoothly stirred another cube of sugar into her tea. “Goodness,” she said mildly. “I hope you don’t plan to tell your father that before he passes.”

“No,” Ezra said, suddenly deeply tired. “I won’t.”

“Thank you,” she said. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then stood to leave. “I’d best get back to your father. You’ll join us soon?”

Ezra nodded.

At the last moment, she stopped in the doorway and turned back to him. “I do hope he makes you happy, this young man of yours?”

Ezra tried to accept the olive branch. “He does, mother.”

She gave him a faint smile. “Good.”

\--

“Way to go, Ezra,” Alistaire said bitterly. “Nice of you to spill that on mother just before her husband dies.”

“Oh Alistaire,” Rosalind said. “Do try to shut up once in a while.”

Ezra smiled into his teacup. His sister, for all her faults, really wasn’t so bad.

Nigel snickered but wisely kept quiet.

\--

Their mother was back within ten minutes.

“The nurse says it won’t be long,” she said. “You should all come up and say goodbye.”

His father passed quietly a short while later, with no dramatic last-minute pronouncement. He simply fell asleep for the last time, and then later his breathing quietly stopped. Ezra watched him go with the strange sensation in his head of something moving further and further away from him, like the light of a car on the motorway at night, dimly seen in front of you as it accelerates away. His mother cried softly, and Rosalind moved to comfort her. Alistaire and Nigel looked pale and grim in the aftermath, but Ezra mostly felt his head buzzing with static, like he was a radio tuned to the wrong channel.

He made his way out to the sitting room in the master suite and sat down on a divan, still feeling oddly robotic and disconnected from reality. He sat there and watched as his siblings moved in and out of the room, helping his mother, making phone calls. Someone gave him a cup of tea, which he held idly, not even aware of it. At some point someone sat down next to him and said a few words, but he hardly registered them. Life continued to swirl around him, and it was as if he had stepped out of the flow.

He was still sitting there when their father’s doctor arrived to certify the death, and when the orderlies arrived to remove the body. He watched as they prepared to take him away, marveling on one level at how different a body appeared after death; it was hard to describe how impossible it would be to mistake death for sleep. It was like looking at a house with all the windows lit up and the sound of voices and laughter echoing within, and then seeing it years later, an empty, abandoned shell, devoid of spark and sound.

The sky was beginning to darken when the sound of his phone startled him out of his reverie. He shook his head, trying to understand what the noise meant, then pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it dumbly.

 _Ezra Fell calling_ , the screen read.

Crowley. That meant Crowley.

He pushed the button and raised it to his head.

“Ezra?” Crowley said. “Are you there?”

“He’s gone, Crowley,” Ezra said. He took a deep breath. “It’s done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, here's a hoard of new characters that you never asked for. But I've been planning this chapter since somewhere in the middle of Faeted 1, and it was supposed to happen in book two but just never fit in, and I just recently spent almost twelve hours in a car with nothing to do but think about Ezra's family and backstory, so here we are. I won't even tell you how much research and detail I put into thinking about his family home. Do I have a floorplan? Why yes I do. :) Did I research several of his sibling's careers (none of which I really needed to know when I actually wrote it) and know the name of each of their spouses and children? Probably. This is slightly embarrassing, but it was also really fun to do. 
> 
> It's a sad chapter, but it plays a key role in shaping Ezra's later decisions and the entire rest of the course of the book. Stay with me! Thank you so much for reading!


	4. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra lays his father, and several other haunts and hurts from the past and present, to rest, and received some unlooked-for support.

Anathema answered on the first ring.

“Ezra?” she said. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not Ezra, witch girl” Crowley said. “Need your advice.” 

“How’d you get Ezra’s phone?” she asked suspiciously.

“Oh for – why is that the first thing everyone asks me? I made a copy of it. It’s a thing I can do,” he said. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Anathema pulled her hair back from her face and tried to sigh quietly. “What can I do for you?” she said politely.

“Tell me about funerals,” he said. “I need to know what to do.”

“You’re … going to the funeral?” she asked.

“Of course I’m going to the funeral. Why would I not go to the funeral?” Crowley huffed. “I can be supportive!”

Anathema frowned. “So, what do you need to know?”

“How to behave like a human? What to wear? What happens?” he said. “Somehow I don’t think our funerary customs – which believe me, you don’t want to know about – really carry over.”

Anathema stared at the wall, brain spinning. “I think,” she said slowly, “that maybe you should just come over for a while and I’ll work on it with you.”

Crowley grunted in agreement. “Ok good,” he said. “Now? Now would be good.”

“Yes, sure,” she said, resigned. “Come on over.”

There was a knock at the door before they even hung up.

“Were you calling me from the front yard?” Anathema said as she opened the door.

“No!” Crowley said a tad defensively. “I just move really fast. Speedy, me.”

“You were totally in the front yard.”

“Was not.”

She moved aside and let him in.

\--

“So apparently I need a dark suit,” Crowley said to his small group of advisors the next day.

Beelzebub put down the notepad they were writing on and looked Lord Crowley up and down. “Call me wrong, but you appear to be _wearing_ a dark suit, don’t you?”

Crowley looked down at himself. Slim black velvet pants, sharp pointed boots of a shimmery material not found on earth, a blood red button down of incredible softness and just the faintest sheen, topped by a tight black jacket fitted with an odd combination of scales and spikes across both shoulders. He thought he looked rather nice, and it was good to hear someone else agreed.

“Yes, I am, good eye.” Crowley said, “But apparently this type of black suit would attract too much attention of the wrong sort at a funeral. Earth funerals are sedate and morose. And usually, oddly enough, rainy, according to Anathema.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Ligur said. “Do they not have music, and feats of magic?”

“Not a bit,” Crowley said.

“But they must drink, and make oaths, and – and throw things?” Hastur asked. “I remember being at some pretty fun Earth funerals long ago.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, “that was the Celts. Loved a good wake, they did. But the English are different. More somber.” 

Ligur pulled a face. “Why in the many worlds would you want to go to that?”

Crowley scowled. “You know why. It’s Ezra’s father.”

“I know, I know,” Ligur said. He did. They all did. They liked Ezra almost as much as Crowley did, and they were all feeling for him right now.

They also knew that humans tended not to come back when they died, and that they died so young and so quickly – the luckiest of them barely over a hundred years. It was unthinkable to the Fae; you could hardly know someone in that length of time. To know and love someone, or to struggle against someone, for a timespan that was barely more than a blink of an eye? To try to work out everything that needs to be worked out between two sentient creatures in this kind of interval was ridiculous, and then they are gone and that’s it? No leisurely return in another, newer body with the same thoughts and memories, ready to continue the conversation?

It made no sense.

\--

Crowley looked up as someone knocked on the door to his outer office. He waved a hand to release the wards on the door and shuffling footsteps sounded as Hastur wandered in.

“Uh, Lord Crowley,” Hastur said, sketching an odd kind of bow that was nonetheless well intentioned. “Had a, err, question for you.”

Crowley put down his pen and leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Well, what is it?”

“I’d like to – that is –“ Hastur stopped, clearly uncertain of how to proceed.

“You want to come to the funeral,” Crowley said.

Hastur blinked. “You’re reading my mind now too?”

Crowley smirked. “Doesn’t take a mind reader.”

Hastur straightened up. “Well then, yes. I would. Ligur too. We feel like we should go. Support the human in his moment of need.”

Crowley peered at him. “You can’t wear _that_ ,” he said, looking over Hastur’s ragged, dust-colored robes.

“Obviously,” Hastur said, acting like he had any idea what might be wrong with his outfit.

“We need to be inconspicuous. Appear to be humans for the hour or two involved. Not eat anyone or scare anyone or… or turn into a giant spider, or a pile of insects, or anything. Not play any jokes. Not draw attention to ourselves.” He looked Hastur in the eye. “Can you do that? Because I won’t have Ezra upset.”

Hastur took a deep breath. “Of course I can,” he said. “I’m a born actor. You should see how good I’m getting at my jump scares.” Crowley gave him a pointed look. “Not that I will be doing any of those during the funeral, though,” he added hastily.

“Let me think about this,” Crowley said. “I think I have an idea that you could help with.”

Hastur bowed his way out.

\--

It was the day before the funeral, and as the oldest, Alistaire had taken on the role of calling endless family meetings to fine tune each and every detail of the event, from the guest list to the exact order of who would be presenting or reading what words at what time. Their mother took a back seat, mostly quiet in her grief, only piping in here and there to specify something that her husband would have liked or not, and as arrogant as they were, none of her children dared argue with her when she did so.

Nonetheless, the meetings were exhausting and much more bureaucratic than they needed to be, and Ezra had started to wonder if he was going to survive through the ceremony or whether a double funeral might be needed, when suddenly the chimes rang at the front door. The family sat tight, letting the maid answer it; there had been an almost endless flow of visitors since Montague died, and they had needed the extra help.

The maid appeared in the doorway of the morning room and cleared her throat nervously.

“Someone in the foyer to see you, Mr. Ezra,” she said quietly. The rest of the family hardly noticed as he pushed back his chair and excused himself.

Ezra smiled at the maid and puzzled over who it might be as he made his way to the front of the house. A neighbor? An old school friend? He couldn’t think of anyone he particularly cared to see from the general area – he was not in the mood for company and all of the people he actually wanted to see were far, far from –

He skidded to a stop as a familiar shape came into view at the far end of the large entry hall. He’d know that angular frame anywhere, even if its owner currently had his back to him. Crowley. Was it really? It was.

Crowley turned and smiled at him, and Ezra didn’t hesitate; he launched himself into Crowley’s arms for a long, much overdue embrace.

“Ezra, you’re –”

“Shhh,” Ezra said. “Just give me a minute, dearest. Don’t say I’m crushing you just yet.”

Crowley gave in and just held on for dear life.

“Missed you,” he murmured.

“You have no idea,” Ezra replied.

\--

Eventually Ezra let go and stepped back. He looked his love over thoroughly, head to toe.

“You are the best and most welcome thing my eyes have seen since I got here,” Ezra said. “But my goodness, what on Earth are you wearing?”

“Earth clothes,” Crowley said, twirling around, “and they’re bloody uncomfortable.”

He turned more slowly, showing off his skinny charcoal gray jeans, cream jumper, and immense gray wool scarf that was bunched casually, just so. The whole thing was topped off with a gray wool trench. He looked like a fashion plate; in fact, Ezra was rather suspicious that he’d seen the entire outfit on the pages of a fashion magazines not too many days ago.

“You look amazing,” Ezra said, “but nothing at all like yourself.”

“In disguise,” Crowley said with a wink. “Couldn’t show up here wearing my full court regalia, now, could I?”

“But how did you get all this?” Ezra asked.

Crowley grinned. “Witch girl helped. Showed me magazines, helped me find things that would be appropriate for this kind of situation, and then we just – kind of materialized what I needed.”

“As in stole?” Ezra said, unable to really work up the huff he supposed he should.

“No,” Crowley said. “As in created out of nothing. They’ll return to nothing as soon as I don’t need them anymore. No worries, angel, no one is missing their very tight and uncomfortable jeans.”

“Well, I’m delighted that you’re here,” Ezra said. “Are you just visiting?”

“I’m here for the funeral,” Crowley said, “and to take you home afterwards, whenever you’re ready.”

Ezra took a deep breath. “I suppose, then” he said, “that we’d best introduce you, shouldn’t we?”

“If you want,” Crowley said. “By the way, you can refer to me as Anthony if you’d like, while I’m here. Might be easier for all of them.”

“You’re Crowley,” Ezra said. “I don’t feel like sharing your true name with any of these people, and that’s that.” He leaned in and kissed Crowley, slowly and fully, then turned. “Come with me,” he said.

\--

The family, ever conscious of their breeding and manners, responded politely but with barely hidden fascination when Ezra brought Crowley into the music room and introduced him around. Crowley, for his part, behaved admirably – shaking hands left and right, making casual conversation, and in between it, taking in everything in the room with laser-like focus. Only Ezra knew enough to catch how much he was observing and cataloging, but he couldn’t wait to hear his observations later.

After a half hour of drinks and questions, Ezra excused them both with the announcement that he was going to get Crowley settled.

“Oh, darling, the guest suite isn’t made up fully just now,” his mother said. “Give me a minute to call the maid?”

Ezra squared his shoulders. “That won’t be necessary, mother, Crowley is staying with me.”

They left the room with four pairs of startled eyes very firmly following them. 

\--

“So, this is the childhood haunt, is it?” Crowley said, looking around Ezra’s bedroom. “This is where you stayed up late reading?”

“Reading, dreaming, plotting my escape from this suffocating way of life,” Ezra said, flopping down on the bed. Crowley stared out the front window for a moment and then came and sat carefully next to him.

“How bad has it been?” he asked.

“Pretty bad.” Ezra shuddered. “Nothing’s really changed. Dad magnanimously forgave me for being a terrible son and then offered me the family seaside cottage in Dover on the condition that I marry a woman and settle down.”

Crowley snorted. “I can be a woman if you need me to. Easy enough.” He raised his fingers to snapping position to make a quick change and then stopped when Ezra frowned at him.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. “I like you just as you are.”

“And the rest of the family?”

“Oh, you know. It’s just like anytime you put a lot of caged animals in an enclosed space together. We all prowl around looking for weakness and sharpening our claws.” Ezra laid a hand across his eyes and groaned. “I hate it here. Can we go home?”

Crowley smiled despite himself, then molded himself to the length of Ezra’s side and wrapped his arms around him. “Soon, love,” he murmured. “For now, just take a little nap. I’ve got you.”

\--

A knock on the door an hour later roused them both from their half slumber. Ezra’s mother waited a discrete interval, then peeked in.

“I hope you’ll be joining us for dinner?” she said. “We’ll dine at seven. Casual, of course.”

“Thank you, mother,” Ezra said.

“’Casual of course’?” Crowley echoed. “What, do you usually wear tops and tails to dinner?”

“You jest,” Ezra said, “but you don’t know the half of it.

Crowley smirked and sat up. “Well then, I’d better tidy up.”

Ezra pointed him towards the attached washroom, then joined him in the doorway as Crowley started messing with his hair. “Should we get our stories straight?” he asked.

“Our story?”

“They’re going to ask lots of questions about how we met and what you do and such,” Ezra said. “Perhaps we should discuss what we’re going to say?”

Crowley winked at him. “Don’t worry, love, I’ve got it. Just follow my lead.”

Ezra tried to decide if he had the energy to fret. He decided he did not.

\--

“So, Mr. Crowley,” Ezra’s mother said. “What do you do for a living?”

Crowley delicately sipped at his soup in exactly the right way, then looked up. “I’m in marketing,” he said with a smile that was only slightly frightening.

“You work for one of the big London firms?” Alistaire asked, wheels obviously turning in his head.

“No,” Crowley said. “My firm is a small one in Dubai, handles a number of luxury brand alcohols. Most of my clients are international, so I travel quite a bit.”

Alistaire looked suspicious. “What firm is it?”

Ezra cut in. “Alistaire, must we discuss work at the table? I know we weren’t raised this way.”

Alistaire opened his mouth to protest but luckily Rosalind stepped in to back him up.

“Do stop being a bore, Alistaire” she said, silencing him with a cool look. She turned to Crowley and smiled with some actual warmth. “Besides, I’d much rather hear how you two met. I sense a story there.”

Ezra tried to come up with something quickly, but Crowley again beat him to the punch.

“We met at my sister’s,” Crowley said. “She and Ezra were friends –”

“—more like acquaintances,” Ezra cut in.

“—and she was throwing one of her big swanky parties. Such a bore, usually, but this time Ezra was there, and I took one look at him and knew I needed to get to know him much better.”

Ezra blushed. “Oh now,” he said, “it was hardly –”

“It was,” Crowley cut in, “and you know it. Instant fascination. I saw you and was instantly smitten.”

Ezra gave up and took a deep draught of his wine, then reached for a refill, aware that everyone’s eyes were on him. He marveled a little at Crowley’s ability to walk that line – truly a Fae skill – of not technically saying anything that was untrue while still completely obfuscating the truth. On the surface, the moment they met could be described exactly like this, but then again, it wasn’t like that at all.

“We dated for a while, back and forth, and then he came abroad with me for one my… assignments,” Crowley continued, “and we’ve been together ever since.”

“You left the school, Ezra?” Alistaire said, eyes narrowed.

“No, no,” Ezra assured him. “I still teach there. But I only teach winter and spring terms now. The rest of the year, I travel with Crowley. It’s why you had such difficulty reaching me on this trip. Good thinking whoever contacted the school and had them find me. I can be, uh, a little hard to reach depending on where we are.”

Conversation moved on, and Ezra relaxed. Everyone seemed to be buying their story. Everyone except, maybe, Alistaire.

\--

The morning of the funeral arrived, and Crowley stayed a respectful distance from the family, who occupied the front row next to the graveside service. From his position on the opposite side, he sought to catch Ezra’s eye, and when he did, he tried to pantomime to him to look to the far tree line.

Ezra blinked, not understanding.

LOOK, Crowley mouthed, and shifted his eyes in the correct direction.

Puzzled and numb, Ezra turned to scan the outer edge of the cemetery in the indicated direction. Through the drizzle, he made out an astonishing sight – five or six figures on horseback. No, not horses – firesteeds. Actual firesteeds, their red eyes glowing. Ezra started and looked around, but no one else appeared to notice or see anything unusual. He hoped that meant they were glamoured and only he could see them. 

He turned his head back to the figures, trying to make out who they were. Each one sat ramrod straight, at attention, their eyes fixed on him. He made out Hastur first, his shock of white hair easily visible, and beside him Lord Beelzebub sat on a horse just a little bit in front of the others, clearly the lead. Of course, Ligur was there too – wherever Hastur was, Ligur was not far behind. Several of the other figures had their hoods drawn up or escaped him. He was fairly certain one of them was a woman – and a flash of red hair beneath a hood made him think it might be Madam Tracy, his old friend from the Shining Court. As he looked at her, he got the strongest feeling that the person was smiling at him, although he couldn’t make out the face.

His friends – his allies from Fae. All here to support him. Ezra, who hadn’t cried throughout the ceremony, found himself tearing up now.

The horseback figures kept up their silent vigil as the coffin was lowered into the grave, and as the first handfuls of dirt were thrown in. The stood silent and watching through the final prayers and the benediction.

When the priest had finished, Beelzebub raised a hand and blew a single note on a strange-looking horn. It rang out clear and haunting, like a chime from the waves, polyphonic and pure, sounding at once sad and like the memory of your fondest childhood experience. Although Ezra was fairly sure he was the only one who heard it directly, he noticed a ripple pass through the rest of the mourners as it rang. His mother stood a little bit straighter, his siblings seemed to take a deep cleansing breath, and everyone around them seemed to look around with a little more lightness in their gaze.

As the sound faded away, the riders saluted as one, and then melted back into the earth.

THANK YOU, Ezra mouthed to Crowley, his heart achingly full.

\--

There was a nearly constant stream of visitors interrupting them at the reception. Crowley stood back a little as Ezra and his family greeted each of them, shaking hands, accepting condolences, murmuring their thanks. Ezra occasionally called him forward to meet someone he’d particularly liked, and Crowley did his best to be full on human, smiling and interacting and saying as little as possible.

After a while, Crowley wandered off in search of some kind of tolerable alcohol – he was pretty sure he’d noted one of those strange world globes that opens up to reveal a hidden stash of bottles in the library. He went in search of it and sure enough, found a quite nice brandy hidden inside. He helped himself to it in a materialized snifter and was browsing through the spines of the books on the shelves when he sensed a presence behind him.

He turned and found Nigel.

“Can I help you?” he said as neutrally as possible.

“Just taking a break from the crush,” Nigel said, eyeing him. “And also wondered where you’d disappeared to. Quite understanding of you, making yourself scarce so Ezra could talk to her.”

Crowley blinked. “What?”

Nigel popped open the globe and poured himself a large helping. “I see you found the good brandy,” he said dryly. “Have a nose for it, do you? Wouldn’t want to try to keep anything hidden from you.”

Crowley frowned. “Ezra told me to help myself.” He hadn’t, but screw Nigel. “So, who were you referring to?”

“Oh,” Nigel said, taking a dainty sip and making an appreciative face. “You know, Hen. His ex-fiancé. They were meant to get married. Engaged for years and years.”

Crowley stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Nigel said. “Ezra didn’t tell you?”

Crowley recovered himself and shrugged. “Well, you know, we haven’t had a lot of time lately for rehashing ancient history.” He winked at Nigel. “Too much time in bed, I suppose.”

Nigel looked revolted. “I’d best get back,” he said. “Maybe you too.”

\--

Crowley finished his drink and fought to control his thoughts before heading back out. Ezra had once had a fiancé. So what. It didn’t matter. Ezra had never mentioned that he had intended to marry someone else, that he’d loved someone else. Had he loved her? Who was she, this mysterious Hen? He frowned at the books and bit back the urge to swipe the whole of the shelf in front of him to the floor and then char them into dust.

It’s a funeral, he reminded himself. He wasn’t sure of many things, but he was fairly certain that throwing a jealous fit at a funeral was first of all completely socially unacceptable and likely to get him into all kinds of trouble with Ezra, and second, exactly what Nigel was hoping he’d do.

He didn’t know Nigel very well, but he already knew that if Nigel wanted something, he wanted to use all his powers to do the opposite.

He drained his glass, materialized it away, and headed back into the music room where the reception was still going strong.

“Crowley, there you are!” Ezra called to him as he made his way across the room. “Come meet an old friend of mine.”

Crowley stepped up and assessed the woman in front of him. She was, quite literally, the female counterpart of Ezra. Her hair was pale blond and very straight, bobbed to her shoulders, and her face was round and rosy in the way English people were always painted. Like Ezra, she was slightly on the plump side but in a way that was very pleasing. Bright blue eyes that were a match for Ezra’s sparkled as she held out a hand to shake his.

“Ah, so you’re the infamous Crowley I’ve been hearing about,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

Crowley shook hands with her. “’lo,” he said, glancing at Ezra. “I’ve heard very little about you.”

Ezra had the grace to blush. “Hen and I were childhood friends,” he said. “Spent nearly all our time together before I went off to school, and on school breaks.”

Crowley nodded. “How lovely,” he said, keeping his voice level with some effort. He smiled at both of them. “Excuse me.”

He kept his face expressionless as he made his way through the music room and the conservatory and out to the gardens. He didn’t miss the fact that Nigel, that snarky little prick, was watching him the whole way.

\--

The nice thing about English estates, Crowley thought, was that the gardens were generally extensive enough to lose oneself entirely from view of anyone in the house. He gave up the pretense of being calm, cool, and collected as soon as he knew himself to be out of sight and allowed his face to assume the scowl it desperately wanted to show the world right now. He stomped through the path, barely admiring the plants around him, until he found a suitable place to stop.

A folly. Of course they had a folly. Pretentious twits.

He circled the structure in front of him – it was a small, circular, open structure, made of old limestone, shaped to look like a small belltower or the top of a cathedral. Eight pillars joined into arches opening around it, and a peaked roof towered up over it. Stairs led up each of four sides, and the middle was open to the air. That looked like as good a place as any for a sulk, he thought, as he stalked up and planted himself on one of the two benches inside.

He heard the footsteps behind him a quarter of an hour later, just as he had finished cataloguing the faults of Ezra’s brother and was moving on to consider the next member of the family.

“There you are, love,” Ezra said.

Crowley made a motion of acknowledgement but did not turn around. Ezra sighed and came up the steps to sit beside him.

“What did Nigel say to you?” he asked.

“Just that Hen and you had been engaged for years and that she was basically the love of your life,” Crowley said. “You know. Nothing important or worth mentioning.”

Ezra huffed. “Nigel’s a jackass. Hen was never really anything but my friend.”

Crowley looked at him. “There seems to have been a bit more than friendship if you were planning to marry.”

“Our families assumed we’d marry,” Ezra corrected him. “Two wealthy families with two bookish, fantasy-ridden children who didn’t quite fit the mold anywhere else? We were inseparable and loved the same things.”

“And you never felt anything for her?”

Ezra paused and thought. “I suppose as we got older there were some hints of feelings there,” he admitted. “I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted, and for a while I assumed that perhaps the deep friendship and esteem I felt for Hen was as much as I could hope for in a pairing, despite whatever secret thrill I might have felt about the occasional boy at school.”

Crowley listened.

“She thought she loved me, and, well, I decided maybe this was what love was. I suppose we talked about marriage, but I never considered it official,” he said. “But in the end, I had to break it off, because – well, because that _wasn’t_ enough for me, as you can see. She’s a dear girl and my oldest friend, and I love her deeply. But my passions lie elsewhere.”

Crowley reached out and took his hand. “They’d better.”

Ezra smiled. “Oh, my love,” he said. “You know they do. I’ve never felt what I feel with you anywhere else, ever. You are my one and only.”

Crowley felt something tight inside his chest loosen and warmth filled him, head to toe. He leaned in and kissed Ezra. “I’m sorry, angel,” he said. “Getting jealous at your father’s funeral.”

Ezra sighed and leaned against his shoulder. “Yes,” he said, voice playful “you’re simply awful. It will take you ages to make this one up to me. I think at least four cakes will be involved. And two foot rubs.”

Crowley grinned into Ezra’s hair. “I can do that,” he said.

There was a sudden clap of thunder, and a shower of rain broke out around them. Ezra huddled closer. “How romantic,” he said. “You and me, all alone in the folly, stuck in the rain. It’s almost like someone ordered it.” He stopped and peered suspiciously up at Crowley. “You didn’t order it, did you?”

Crowley held up his hands in protest. “I’m completely innocent, angel,” he said. “This is a fully natural sudden rainstorm at the most romantic moment possible, I swear.”

Ezra continued to assess him, and then gave up. “Well, I don’t care if you did,” he said. “It’s lovely. I think you should kiss me now, you jealous fool.”

Crowley did.

\--

After the last of the guests finally left, Crowley lounged on one of the sofas in the library and Ezra wandered around, picking up the occasional wine glass that had been left abandoned on a sideboard or shelf. He was taking a handful to the staff in the kitchen when Alistaire cornered him in the back hall.

“We need to talk,” Alistaire said. “Who is this Crowley really? He seems shady to me, and I don’t buy his story about being a high-end marketer in Dubai at all.”

“What are you suggesting?” Ezra said, voice quiet and dangerous. He was deathly tired, too tired to pussy foot around with his pompous older brother.

“Don’t get in a snit, Ezra,” Alistaire said in disdain. “I’m the patriarch of this family now and it’s my job to look out for your wellbeing.”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, all of you have so often been so _deeply_ interested in my well-being. It’s overwhelming, actually.” 

“Think what you like, but I’m still asking. Are you sure he’s not after your money? Our family is rather well known. Could he be some kind of rival from one of the other banking families, trying to worm his way into our confidence? Is he involved in criminal enterprise?”

“Oh for – no, of course not,” Ezra said. “Crowley is far wealthier than this family if you piled up every tuppence or farthing we’ve ever possessed. He doesn’t need our money, and I assure you he’s not some kind of industrial spy. What he _is_ is my partner, and I’d thank you to back right the hell off, Alistaire. You’re not my bloody patriarch.”

Alistaire took a step closer to Ezra and loomed threateningly, his voice getting markedly louder. “You’re being an obstinate fool, as always, Ezra. I’m the head of this family whether you like it or not, and you will do as you’re told when it comes to protecting the family from the likes of –”

“From me?” a steely voice cut in from the other end of the hall.

Alistaire straightened up and took a step back from Ezra, but also managed to look mortally offended.

“Eavesdropping, are we?” he said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s hard not to overhear when someone is being such a loud and threatening blowhard,” Crowley said, walking up and putting his arm around Ezra’s waist. “Is he bothering you, love?”

Ezra smiled. “Not at all,” he said. “I was just explaining to my brother that you are neither an industrial spy nor a gold digger, and that I do not consider myself under his personal jurisdiction just because our father has died.”

Crowley grinned. “Why no,” he said, “I don’t believe you are. Last I checked, you’d reached the age of legal majority, haven’t you?”

Ezra grinned back. “Why, I do believe so,” he said. “One is usually considered a functional adult in one’s thirties, and not subject to undue influence from one’s overbearing relatives.”

Alistaire turned a shade of red that made it look like he might just have a stroke. “You’ll do as I say if you don’t want to be cut off entirely!” he shouted.

Ezra stared at him for a moment in shock and then, to everyone’s surprise, burst out laughing.

Crowley stared at him. Alistaire stared at him. Ezra continued to laugh until he was wiping his eyes.

“Are – are you okay, love?” Crowley said softly.

Ezra dabbed the moisture from his eyes and straightened his shoulders. “I – ah, pardon me, I just couldn’t help it. Oh, my goodness!”

“What is going on?” Alistaire said.

“I just – oh goodness, but that didn’t take long, did it?” Ezra said with a chuckle. “Dad’s been gone four days, I believe? A hundred hours, perhaps. Less than a week you’ve been in charge of the family, in your mind, and you’ve already threatened to cut me off from the family fold.”

Alistaire stared.

“As if –” Ezra chuckled again. “As if there’s anything to cut me off _from_ , Alistaire. Really. Have you no imagination? You’re well aware that Dad cut me off years ago. Wrote me out of the will, banned me from gatherings. You aren’t cutting me off from anything that matters. There may be love here, underneath all the mess, but there’s no warmth and support for me here, and it’s certainly not my home.”

Alistaire opened his mouth and then closed it, uncertain what to say.

Ezra turned to Crowley and gave him a wobbly but oddly light smile. “My love,” he said, “shall we prepare to depart? I have a sudden yearning to head for home,” he said. “Real home. With you.”

The utterly besotted smile that lit up Crowley’s face was the best thing in the world. Really, there was nothing better.

“You’re not even going to stay for the reading of the will?” Alistaire said.

Ezra took a long deep breath. “I think not,” he said firmly. “I’ll leave that to you. Do let me know if there’s anything that requires my attention. I’ll leave my contact information with Mother. So, you can find me should you ever need to threaten me again.”

Crowley felt like his heart was about to burst with pride.

Ezra held out his hand to Crowley, who took it immediately and held on tight. “Shall we say our goodbyes, my love?”

“That sounds perfect, angel,” Crowley said.

They left Alistaire standing in the hallway, and Ezra didn’t spare him so much as a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Fae in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed our brief sojourn on Earth, and got to know Ezra a little better through it. 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!


	5. Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra readjusts to life after his father, and throws himself into a mission. Beez plans a visit. Crowley tries to just deal.

“Oh, it’s so good to be home,” Ezra sighed, flopping down onto their enormous bed and throwing an arm over his eyes with relief. Crowley set down Ezra’s bags and watched him curiously.

“You really think of this as home now?” he asked.

Ezra frowned into his elbow but was too tired to lift his head for full effect. “Do you really need to ask that?” he said, a little harshly. “You met my family. Do you think that place feels like home?”

Crowley sat down next to him and laid a hand on his back. “No,” he said, “I can’t imagine it does. Although I did almost like Rosalind.”

Ezra nodded. “Of all of them, she’s the closest to a decent human being. Sarcastic and jaded but okay.”

Crowley shrugged. “You say that like sarcastic and jaded are a bad thing. I actually consider that prime qualification for liking someone.”

Ezra reached out with his free arm and pulled Crowley down on the bed next to him. “Well good,” he said, nuzzling in. “We’ll have her over for dinner sometime, shall we?”

Crowley allowed himself to be manhandled into place. “Perhaps. Could be fun.”

“Anyway,” Ezra said, “this is most definitely home now. This and the cottage.”

“I’m glad,” Crowley said. “I want that.”

Ezra started to snore before he had even finished the sentence.

\--

Crowley watched Ezra as he tried to settle back into their life. He knew, from his own experiences, that Ezra was not fine right now. The experience of losing his father was affecting him deeply; if Crowley had learned anything from his months of introspection and their conversations with Dr. Shirer, it was that grief showed itself in myriad ways.

For Ezra, it showed initially through fatigue – he mostly slept for the first two days. After that, he tried to get back to his usual routine, but he was more emotionally volatile than Crowley was used to. Ezra had always been stubborn, and when pushed he could put up a fine fight that would make any argumentative Fae proud, but usually he was reliably even-tempered.

Now, though, he was different. He wasn’t talking about it, but he was touchy and distracted, running hot and cold on things. Crowley tried to take it in stride. He’d done much worse, he knew, when he was grieving.

“Are you coming to court today?” Crowley asked one morning as Ezra slumped over a cup of tea looking more tired than usual.

“I don’t think I shall,” Ezra said shortly.

Crowley peered at him. “Did you not sleep?” 

“Not well, no,” Ezra admitted, sounding gruff.

“I could cancel and stay home?” Crowley offered.

Ezra straightened himself up and fixed Crowley with a steely look. “I do _not_ need a babysitter, Crowley,” he snapped.

“I wasn’t offering to babysit,” Crowley said. “Just thought we could take a day off. Hang out.”

“Hang out?” Ezra snipped. “I believe you’ve been spending far too much time on Earth. You sound like one of my students.”

Crowley frowned. Mockery was new. Ezra never mocked him, at least not seriously.

“All right then,” he said, “I’ll just leave you to it.”

He expected Ezra to call him back before he got to the door, but he did not.

Crowley made sure to be extra capricious in court that morning. The nice thing about ruling the Dark Court was that when you found yourself in a bad mood, you could make good use of it, since everyone petitioning you secretly wanted you to be a bit of a bastard about things. Gave them a good story when they got home, about meeting and wrangling concessions from the terrifying snake prince.

\--

Beelzebub requested a moment of his time after court concluded.

“Very well done this morning,” they said approvingly. “You were quite harsh with most of them. Everyone was appropriately cowed.”

Crowley grunted in thanks. “I’m headed to the vaults,” he said. “Walk with me and tell me what you need.”

They set off through the tunnels at the back of the throne room. A thin trickle of lava ran down a channel on one side of the tunnel, illuminating the slick stone walls in a flickering shine. It was unwelcoming and, Crowley thought, quite lovely.

“As you know,” Beelzebub said, “Adam has requested a meeting with me.”

Crowley nodded. “I heard. Do you want to go?”

Beelzebub was silent for a moment. “I wasn’t sure for a while,” they said. “But I think I’d like to. With your approval, of course.”

Crowley nodded. “You have it,” he said. “But we need to set this up carefully. He can’t come here; most of the Fae could tell that he’s a hybrid on anything other than the most cursory interaction, and that would still be quite dangerous.”

“I can go there,” Beelzebub said. “Just for a quick meeting, don’t really need to stay.”

Crowley frowned, thinking about the last time Beelzebub had gone to Earth for a quick mission and not returned for weeks.

“I’ll come back,” Beelzebub said, reading his silence quite proficiently. “I promise. I can leave a surety of some kind if you want – a portion of my powers, a charm you can recall me with –”

Crowley waved a hand. “That isn’t necessary,” he said. “I trust you. And you know what would happen if you didn’t return.”

“I do, yes.”

“I’ll have Ezra get in contact with Anathema about particulars,” Crowley said. Ezra clearly needed something to do other than think about his family and the trial. “In the meantime, I’ll work on something to hide your location while you’re up there.”

Beelzebub’s face settled into the closest approximation of a smile they could manage. It was little more than a twitch of one corner, but to a careful observer, it was there.

\--

To say he wasn’t sleeping was something of an understatement, Ezra thought. After his forty-eight-hour sleep upon returning to the Dark Keep, rest had proven elusive. He usually managed to drift off at the beginning of the night – or at least pretend to well enough to fool Crowley – but by the middle of the night he’d be awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his father and his childhood and Crowley and the trial and what it all meant.

The one place where Ezra found some escape from his feelings was in his research. Always the academic, Ezra pored over his scrolls and books, reading line after endless line about duels and grudges and loans not repaid and battlefield settlements and war. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he could tell his current line of inquiry was not getting him any closer to it.

The Fae, although lacking a formal legal system, were constantly starting and settling feuds, blood-oaths, and vendettas. Most of them were resolved in either the Seelie or Unseelie courts; he watched Crowley settle disputes nearly every day. Both courts used an enchantment to record each resolution in a series of humorless scrolls that were tucked away in the records room and which no one in their right mind ever read again. Only him.

In a fit of frustration, he swept the entire pile into a large basket at his feet to return to the shelves later. He was just reading about all the cases Crowley had resolved in the last few hundred years, and if there was important Shadow info in those, Crowley would have told him. He needed older information.

Time to go deeper.

He found Hastur in the records room, eating his way through something that must have been highly amusing, from the way he was laughing at it. Ezra put his hands on his hips and cleared his throat loudly at him.

“Eating the books again, Duke Hastur?” he said.

Hastur looked up and smiled. “Ezra,” he said genially. “Oh, this is a good one – a comedy of errors, is that what you called it once? Everyone accidentally disemboweling each other, all over a misunderstanding.” He ripped a page out and offered it to Ezra. “Here, try it – you’ll be laughing in no time.”

Ezra sniffed. “You know that I don’t have your ability to absorb a book’s content by eating it,” he said. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Hastur looked at the page in his hand and then back to Ezra. “Well, your loss,” he said, and crammed it into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, and then burst out into a peal of raucous laughter.

“I need your help, Hastur,” Ezra said.

Hastur laid down the book, his hunger for literature forgotten. “Whaddya need?” he asked.

“I need records. Older ones,” he said. He gestured around the room. “All of this is too new. I need things from the early days of Crowley’s reign, or maybe before it. They don’t seem to be stored here, but there must be _something_ older around here, isn’t there?”

Hastur frowned, deep in thought, and scratched at his tuft of dirty white hair. “Maybe,” he said. “Hold on a minute.” He made an obscene-looking gesture and disappeared all together.

Ezra, used to Hastur’s antics, sat and waited as patiently as he could. Mildly curious, he pulled over Hastur’s half-digested book and used the viewing stone Crowley had given him to translate. Within half a page, he leapt back, horrified by the violence, and pushed the book back across the table with a shudder. Hastur, he realized, had very unusual tastes in humor.

A loud pop sounded as Hastur came back, Ligur in tow. 

“We have just the thing,” Hastur said, leading him to the door. “Come on.”

Ligur swept a low bow and allowed him to pass by, then followed close behind, where he could keep an eye on things.

The duo led him down through a few familiar passageways and staircases until Ezra knew they were near the dungeons where Beelzebub had been imprisoned. And then, they just kept going. And going. And going and going. Further, deeper into the crypts beneath the keep, until at last they ended up in front of a very dusty and moldy-looking wall.

Hastur turned around and grinned at him with a flourish. “There you are, mate!” he said.

Ezra stared blankly at the wall. “Uh, it’s just a pile of stones?”

Ligur rapped Hastur on the head. “C’mon, dummy, you know he can’t see through glamours,” he said. He waved a hand and the wall in front of them dissolved, showing an old, utterly dark black space behind it. A whiff of cold, sour-smelling air came curling out, tickling their noses.

Ligur conjured a light, which floated ahead and lit up a series of shelves with pile after pile of scrolls on them.

“The forgotten records,” he announced. Ligur had a talent for the theatrical.

“Not forgotten, really,” Hastur said, “as much as unwanted. Because they’re just dull. Who would want to read all of these? So many more interesting things to do.”

None of the Fae truly understood Ezra’s obsession with reading. Even those who paid attention to books generally only collected them as status symbols, or because they contained powerful spells. Regular, ordinary books that just contained stories? The Fae would rather hear it from a bard, or see it in a play, than sit down and quietly _read_ about something.

Ezra looked around, estimating that there were hundreds of scrolls there, and suddenly had the gut feeling that he was on the right track.

“You’re a genius,” Ezra said. “You’re both geniuses.”

Hastur and Ligur shared a look that said they obviously agreed.

\--

An hour later, three grimy companions made their way back to the living quarters, burdened like pack animals with enormous bags of scrolls that had been magically lightened but were still bulky. Ezra led them straight into the Prince’s quarters, where they dumped the entire set on the floor of the library.

An immense cloud of dust wafted up as they fell, and it settled with a thin, greasy sheen over nearly every surface in the room.

Hastur looked around in satisfaction. “I like it,” he said. “This place was always a little too clean for my tastes. Looks much more fitting for, yknow, evil now.”

Ezra grimaced. “I’m glad you’re pleased.” Crowley would not be, he realized. He made a mental note to tidy up before he saw it. 

He offered them brandy in payment, raised an eyebrow when instead of accepting a drink they merely absconded with the entire bottle, and then decided to let it go.

He did, after all, have some serious work to do.

He made himself a clear spot in the middle of the floor and started with the nearest scroll.

\--

When Crowley arrived home, the scene that unfolded in front of him was both amusing and infuriating. His beautiful study – two open levels with spiral stairs in one corner and a gorgeous gold railing around the upper level, exquisite silk and finely-carved wood furniture, and the most powerful collection of volumes in one place in his kingdom, not to mention a very pricey collection of rare alcohols – all were covered in a greasy, green sheen. There were old, ragged scrolls and files scattered all over the room, and right in the middle of it all sat Ezra, who looked nothing like his usual cream and blush self. Instead, he was streaked all over with dirt and grime, his fine clothes disheveled, and his eyes watery from the dust motes in the air around him.

“What in the blazes is all of this?” Crowley demanded, startling Ezra out of intense focus.

“Crowley!” Ezra exclaimed, jumping to his feet and immediately nearly slipping on a pile of dirt that had fallen out of something. “I’ve made the most marvelous progress in my research!”

“This –” Crowley gestured around him with moderate disgust – “is your research?”

Ezra looked around. “Yes?” he said sharply. “Is there a problem?”

“Is there a –” Crowley stopped and gathered himself. “Where did you get all of this? It’s filthy and rotting and I’m fairly sure there’s an infestation of dust imps in there somewhere.”

Ezra looked around. “Oh, I do apologize for the mess. It’s just that I told Ligur and Hastur that I needed something older than the scrolls in the records room, and they did a little digging and took me down to somewhere in the crypts where what they called the ‘forgotten scrolls’ were stored.”

“Big stone wall covered in slime?” Crowley asked.

“Yes!” Ezra said excitedly. “You’ve been there too?”

“I think I might have been the one that walled them up,” he said. “Long time ago. Mostly because of the dust imps I already mentioned.” He narrowed his eyes and swatted at something Ezra couldn’t see in mid-air.

“Ah,” Ezra said, a bit annoyed to find his genius unappreciated. “But you see, these records predate your reign by some time. And I’m finding mention of the Shadow Court much more frequently back then. Is it possible that interactions with the Shadow Court were a more common occurrence a few millennia ago?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Crowley said. “Never really thought about it.”

“I’m getting close,” Ezra said. “There’s going to be something helpful in here, I can feel it.”

“Great, that sounds good Ezra,” he said tiredly. “I’ll just put together some dinner, then, shall I?”

Ezra was already heading back to his pile. He nodded distractedly. “Sounds good, thanks love, much to do, see you in a tick!”

Crowley sighed and headed out of the room.

\--

“I made you some food,” Crowley said.

“I don’t want food,” Ezra snapped. “I want answers. You eat it if it’s so important to you.”

“Ezra!” Crowley said, raising his voice to attention-demanding levels. “That is enough!”

Ezra blinked. “I –”

“I know,” Crowley said, giving him his most imposing glare, “you’re doing this for me, to help me in my trial, and I appreciate it. But you’re filthy and exhausted and cranky as all hell and you _are_ going to eat, whether you do the honors or I stuff it down your throat. Either is fine with me.”

Ezra glared back for a moment, then softened. “All right,” he said. “You’re right. You’re definitely right.” He looked around in dismay. “This is a horrendous mess, isn’t it?”

Crowley huffed. “You don’t say.” He reached down and gave Ezra a hand to help pull him up, and they both sneezed in the cloud of particles this released. “Change of plans,” he said. “You’re too grimy to eat right. You’re going to bathe, and then we’ll have dinner.”

He didn’t release Ezra’s hand, and Ezra had the sense to not fight him as he was pulled towards the large bathtub that was somehow filled to exactly the right temperature.

\--

Hours later, Crowley felt a glow of satisfaction about getting Ezra bathed and fed and relaxed into bed, where they laid in a tangle watching the play of light from the fireplace dancing across the room.

“So, what have you found that’s interesting?” Crowley asked.

“All kinds of things,” Ezra said. “Most of it I don’t really understand. Talks of rituals at court, projections, re-enactments. Something about a jackal? Flesh and breath are mentioned several times. Oh, and it looks like you can call witnesses, to some degree. Not sure how that works or who you would call.”

Crowley frowned. “I’m not sure what most of that means.”

“Me either,” Ezra said. He tensed up. “I will not lose you to this, Crowley. I don’t care if I have to tear down the realm myself. Maybe it would help if I ate the scrolls, the way Hastur does.”

Crowley made a gagging noise. “Please don’t. Have you taken a good look at them?”

“Unfortunately, I have,” Ezra agreed.

“We’ll figure it out,” Crowley said. “And we know I’m in the right.”

“I hope that counts for something,” Ezra muttered. “It certainly doesn’t always, where I come from.”

\--

Ezra called Anathema in the morning to see what he could do about setting up Beelzebub’s visit.

“So, they’d like to come,” Ezra said, after reassuring Anathema that he was doing just fine, thank you. “If Adam is still interested. Has to be quiet, though, since it’s still not safe for Adam’s existence to become widely known down here.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Anathema said. She was well placed to understand the dangers of the Fae world and what happened when it intersected with humanity. She’d experienced first-hand the outcome of so-called “harmless” interaction – she had been dismissed and attacked by Gabriel when Ezra and Crowley first met, and then found herself the subject of intense conspiracy and an attack on her life when she visited the Shining Court. “Where should we have them meet?”

“What’s the most warded place we have access to?” Ezra asked.

“Your place, I suppose,” she said.

“That’s true. And Crowley already knows how to portal in and out of there inconspicuously. That will work.” Ezra thought quickly. “Shall we meet you and Adam there at teatime tomorrow?”

“I’ll get him there.” 

\--

Beelzebub showed up at their apartments the next day looking unusually nervous.

“Are you ready for this?” Crowley asked, as he finished setting wards around the portal into Aziraphale’s living room. “He’s likely to not be quite what you expect.”

Beelzebub sniffed and tried to pretend they weren’t jittery. “I have no expectations of the boy,” they said. “I’m just going because he asked to see me.”

Ezra met Crowley’s gaze and a flicker of humor passed between them, and by unspoken agreement they both tried to pretend that this was the truth.

“Okay,” Crowley said. “We’re all set. I’ll go through first, just to check the wards on that end, and then you both can come through when I return. Ezra will stay until your visit is completed.”

He stepped into the portal, and disappeared.

Ezra offered Beelzebub a friendly smile. “Adam is a good boy,” he said, “on his way to becoming a remarkably interesting young man.”

Beelzebub hummed noncommittally.

“He has a bit of a mouth on him,” he continued, “but don’t let that get to you.”

“I’m Fae,” Beelzebub muttered. “I can handle a little attitude. Look who I hang out with.” They waved a hand around the room.

There was a pop and Crowley returned. “All clear,” he said. He turned and gave Ezra a thorough glare. “Contact me immediately if anything strange happens.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ezra said soothingly. “You know I will.”

Crowley did, actually. He waved goodbye and watched the two of them leave.

He wished he could be a fly on the wall for this conversation, but he had a kingdom to run. He stared at the portal for a moment, then went off to continue his work.

\--

Adam and Anathema were waiting on the couch when they came through. Anathema got up immediately and enfolded Ezra in a tight hug, while Beelzebub and Adam stared awkwardly at each other.

“Ana,” he moaned, “I need a breath.”

She laughed but let go. “I haven’t seen you since your dad died, Ezra,” she said. “You and I have a lot to catch up on. I want to hear all about what that was like, and how Crowley did pretending to be human, and all the rest.”

“I thought perhaps you and I could have tea out in the garden while these two visit?” Ezra suggested. He looked at Adam, inquiringly. “Is that all right with you? We can stay if you like.”

Adam met his gaze and considered it. “Nah, I think that’s fine. Give me a chance to talk to Dad about some things.”

Ezra hesitated. “I’d like your assurances that there won’t be any fires set in here today,” he said, remembering the last time Adam had an emotional moment in his cottage.

Adam rolled his eyes. “There won’t,” he muttered.

Ezra turned to Beez. “You all right, too?”

Beelzebub mirrored Adam’s disdain, perfectly. “Yes of course I’m fine. You may leave us, humans.”

Ezra watched Anathema bite back a comment, then followed her lead as she went to the kitchen to collect a tea tray she’d already organized for them. She led him out into the backyard, where they settled on the bench under a tree.

“Do you think they’re going to kill each other?” she asked as she poured.

“I certainly hope not,” Ezra said.

“Want to lay odds on it?” she said, smiling mischievously. “I’ll put down a few pounds if you want to bet.”

Ezra tutted. “Stop it, you troublemaker. I’m sure they will behave themselves admirably. They’re both reasonable people.”

Anathema grinned. “They’re a half-human half-fae hybrid boy who is barely in control of his powers and a powerful, gender ambiguous, dark Fae who’s just barely dealing with their own guilt about abandoning their partner and child and is only recently released from prison.”

“Well yes but –” Ezra sputtered, unable to think of a comeback.

“You’re right,” she concluded. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! So far we are getting very close to the meaty bits of this story. I have a Very Important Character (tm) I can't WAIT to introduce who is showing up in -- not sure -- three? four? chapters? And the wait is killing me. But we will get there. 
> 
> Also, the next chapter will be a fun one as Beez and Adam have their first real conversation. :) It's partially written already so hopefully I can stick with my once a week pace here. The closer we get to the trial, the harder that gets, though, since I'm still grappling with some aspects of how that is going to work. 
> 
> And yes, dust imps are a thing, and yes, you will probably hear more about that. Because when have I ever not run a little throwaway joke into the ground? Never. That's when. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos absolutely make my day, one thousand percent! Love to you all!


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